


When It's Right, It's Right

by FifteenDozenTimes



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/pseuds/FifteenDozenTimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nine-Nine is headed back to the beach for a long weekend, and this time Kevin's invited. It goes...differently than Ray expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It's Right, It's Right

**Author's Note:**

> As always, [epershand](archiveofourown.org/users/epershand) is great.

There’s a handsome flask that lives at the bottom of the drawer Kevin keeps his ties and the occasional pocket square in. It’s chrome with a wide leather band, one of the first anniversary gifts Ray bought for the man he intended to spend his life with. It was not an especially happy anniversary, aside from the fact that he was spending it with Kevin, and the flask was an acknowledgment of the difficult time Kevin was having accompanying Ray to social events with Ray’s coworkers.

The leather is worn and soft with age and use; when Ray catches Kevin drinking from it on the drive to the beach house, he’s surprised how dingy it looks. 

“I don’t think you need that, this time,” he says.

“I appreciate the difference between this time and the others,” Kevin says. He should, this weekend - this weekend they were invited to, together - is so distant from those sad, silent parties of the past it might as well take place on a different planet.

Ray’s career, the way he chooses to live his life, the people he chooses to butt up against again and again, have taken more of a toll on Kevin than Ray has generally been willing to acknowledge. He can let Kevin have an extra drink or two without complaint, this time. If it goes well, perhaps this will be the last time it’s necessary.

They’re the last to arrive, and from the look of his colleagues and the cups scattered all over the place, Kevin isn’t the only one who started the day with a drink or two. 

Kevin meets their enthusiastic, if overly loud, greetings with a reserved nod, and heads directly for the kitchen to fix himself a drink.

“Alright,” Peralta says, raising his plastic cup. “Kevin came to party!”

Ray’s not certain, but he thinks the small smile that slips onto Kevin’s face as he pours is a genuine one.

*

Kevin is lovely when he’s drunk, loose-limbed, disheveled, giggling that sweet throaty giggle that’s usually quite difficult to get out of him.

Kevin is less lovely when it’s barely two in the afternoon and he’s drunk on a couch surrounded by Ray’s colleagues.

Well, that’s not accurate. Kevin’s as attractive as always, possibly more, with his hair disheveled, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, top couple buttons undone. He’s got his arms spread out over the back of the couch, oblivious to Santiago’s delight at the gesture she’s mistaking for a sign of approval. He’s so rarely like this, even more rarely around other people, people he doesn’t know well.

The situation is less than ideal, though.

“There’s no way he’s said that,” Peralta says, “because if he has, there’s no way he’d be letting you tell us.”

“Drink!” Kevin crows, so pleased with himself, and finishes off his glass even though that’s not one of the rules. “We named the dogs after food because Ray’s always threatening to nibble their fat little legs.”

Peralta nearly falls off the couch, he’s so overjoyed. Ray has done a fine job of earning the respect of his subordinates and maintaining a somewhat respectable work atmosphere, but he doesn’t relish the job ahead of him on Monday.

Ray catches Terry’s eye, and raises his eyebrows in a way he hopes will communicate _please get them out of here_ to him without anyone noticing. It works, because Terry is Terry, and Ray is very good with his eyebrows.

“Drunk walk on the beach?” Terry asks, in a tone the officers present should, and do, all recognize as more order than suggestion. 

“That sounds lovely,” Kevin says. “Let me just freshen my drink.”

“I think you should stay here,” Ray says, too hasty. “With me.”

“Oh!” Kevin smirks at him, which is fine, since everyone is almost out the door and no one’s looking at him, but then he starts to sing. Ray has never felt a more baffling mix of mortification and enchantment. “Skyrockets in flight,” he croons, “afternoon del - “

“Peralta!”

“Sarge, just let me stay through the end of the song! I’ll never ask for anything again, I swear.”

Terry drags Peralta out the door by his shirt. Good man, Terry.

“Afternoon delight!” Kevin crows, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“I don’t know what makes you think that’s what you’re getting,” Ray says, tries to keep his face stern. He usually doesn’t have trouble with that.

“I,” Kevin says, stretches out like a satisfied cat on the couch, watching Ray with hazy blue eyes, “am irresistible.”

That’s a hard point to argue. “Can you make it up the stairs?”

“I can make it up _anything_.” Kevin wiggles his eyebrows like he’s just made a double entendre. He did not, but it’s easier to let him have the win.

“Then by all means,” Ray says, with a sweeping gesture towards the stairs. Kevin takes the hint and rises, unsteadily, unbuttoning his shirt as he sways towards the stairs. Ray watches for a minute, making sure he’s actually capable of walking up by himself, and then for a minute longer, as Kevin’s clothes start dropping behind him. He gathers them up as he follows his inebriated husband, shaking his head the whole way.

Kevin is nearly as fond of being naked as he is of being impeccably dressed, and by the time Ray makes it to the bedroom, bundle of Kevin’s discarded clothes in his arms, Kevin is very naked and very pleased with himself. 

Ray should encourage him to indulge in a little daytime drinking more often. In less fraught situations, certainly, but he can’t entirely complain about how the day has gone.

“You’re very clothed,” Kevin says, as he steps close and starts walking Ray back towards the bed.

“I could fix that, if you - oof.” The bed sneaks up on Ray, focused as he is on the drunk man advancing on him. Kevin laughed, triumphant, and Ray barely has time to drop the pile of clothes before Kevin climbs onto his lap.

“Hello.”

Ray doesn’t intend to say _hello_ back, because that would be ludicrous, but even if he wanted to respond he’s being kissed much too intensely to do so. Kevin drapes his arms over Ray’s shoulders. His long, long arms. It’s easy to forget how gangly he is, the way he carries himself so compactly, but he’s all loosened up now and he is everywhere.

Kevin is normally a very considerate lover, often so focused on giving he forgets to even ask, much less demand, what he wants. Ray can get him there, coax him to the breaking point with mouth and fingers and cock, but that doesn’t appear to be necessary today. Kevin’s kisses are wild, more tongue than usual, more teeth than usual, and Ray just grabs at his hips and holds on for dear life.

“Fingers,” Kevin mutters, more rumble than voice, and then dives back in for another biting kiss before Ray can react. He starts grumbling, but doesn’t stop kissing, and it’s only when he grabs Ray’s wrist and lifts his hand up Ray’s brain catches up. Right. Fingers.

Ray’s about to try to scoot back on the bed far enough to get at the lube, without breaking the very enjoyable kiss or dumping his husband on the floor when Kevin pulls away. That’s one problems somewhat regrettably solved.

Or not. Kevin gives him a filthy-smirk, eyes heavy-lidded but bright and beautiful, and wraps his lips around two of Ray’s fingers. The lube can wait. 

Kevin sucks Ray’s fingers the same way he sucks Ray’s cock; sloppy, greedy, noisy, all tongue and saliva and sweet rumbling pleased noises from somewhere in his chest. Ray’s cock is so jealous it just might burst of out his slacks to demand the same attention. Kevin’s is less eager; he’s working his hips like he intends to get himself off, but his cock is barely half-hard.

It would be easy enough to take the advantage, get the upper hand. He probably already has the upper hand, given Kevin’s state, but if he could just give up Kevin’s mouth on his fingers, it would be no trouble at all to flip him onto his back on the bed and get his lips around that soft cock. 

Kevin’s cock is one of the finer things in life, as is the way Kevin reacts to Ray’s mouth, but there’s a downside, and that is he usually comes long before Ray’s had his fill. If Kevin can’t get it up right now, Ray could go as long as he wants, indulge himself for hours until he’s damn well finished.

Another time, perhaps. He’s enjoying this too much not to see where it goes.

Kevin mumbles something around Ray’s fingers, then grumbles again when Ray doesn’t respond in an appropriate amount of time and pulls off. He’s an odd mix of annoyed at Ray’s inability to understand what _fngnfs_ meant and so pleased with himself the smirk is fighting its way through the frown. He’s a ridiculous man, and Ray loves him entirely.

“I said fingers,” he says, trying so hard to enunciate and not really succeeding. 

“You have my fingers,” Ray says, and wiggles them. Kevin rolls his eyes.

“Fuck me with them,” he says, slowly, the same way he says _you forgot to feed the dog again?_ or _how could you miss 27 across?_. Ray laughs and pulls his wrist out of Kevin’s loose grip so he can get a good hold of Kevin’s ass. 

“Hold on,” he says, and he isn’t a young man anymore, nor is he really as strong as Kevin tends to act like he is, but he has some moves left, and one of them is standing up, startling a laugh out of Kevin as he tightens his grip and wraps his legs around Ray’s waist.

“I love when you do that,” he says, quiet, like it’s a secret, like Ray couldn’t tell that right from the start. “How long can you hold me?”

“About thirty seconds,” Ray admits, earning him another throaty laugh as he sits them down on the side of the bed, closer to the headboard. He manages, with some fairly undignified scooting, to shift around until his back’s against the headboard and the nightstand Ray left his dopp kit on is within reach.

“You used to be able to do that longer,” Kevin says, shifting to kneel over Ray’s lap. “You used to be able to fuck me like that.”

“Against a wall, sure.” 

Kevin watches him, those heavy-lidded eager eyes burning holes in his arm as he fishes in the kit for the lube Kevin had insisted they wouldn’t use, no way he’d relax enough to have sex in a house full of Ray’s colleagues. He’s very lucky Ray didn’t listen.

Once he manages to dig it out, Ray leaves the lube on the table for the time being, takes advantage of Kevin’s distracted pout to get his hands back on Kevin’s ass, spreading him wide and brushing his fingers over his hole. Kevin’s startled, delighted gasp is sweet; the moan that rumbles out of him as he pushes back against Ray’s fingers is better.

Time is a factor; Terry can’t keep the crew gone forever, and Ray’s zipper might not make it much longer. But he can’t resist teasing Kevin, ever, particularly not when he’s like this. Kevin is less reserved for Ray than for the rest of the world, but even so, this - this laughing, this demanding, this hip-rolling needing - is rare.

And he’s still not hard. Ray can fix that.

Kevin must know what’s coming, but he still whines when Ray pulls his hands away to slick up his fingers. He’s all body now, mindless with it, not really able to anticipate or think past what’s happening to him at any given moment. He sighs when Ray eases two fingers into him, big loose smile and delighted eyes and hips pushing down to take him in deeper, faster. 

“Oh, Captain,” he says, and laughs a throaty little giggle. He leans in, nuzzles his lips against Ray’s in more of a tease than a kiss. “Oh Captain, my captain.”

Ray can’t help but laugh himself, especially when he glances down to see Kevin’s erection has managed to fight its way through the liquor in his veins. Kevin still has some surprises for him, apparently.

“Want me to be in charge?” Ray asks.

“You’re always in charge.” That’s a lie, and both of them know it; Ray’s fucking Kevin open on three fingers and isn’t even in charge of that, just holding his hand still for the uneven rhythm of Kevin’s hips. Ray is, as he so often is with Kevin, merely along with the ride. So to speak.

Kevin rolls his hips down to take Ray’s fingers deep and stays there, too worked up to keep still but just stuttering his hips against the pressure. Ray could get him off like this, just like this, maybe without even touching his cock, and get one of those sweet sleepy blowjobs he gives when he’s fucked out and satisfied. Kevin, of course, has another idea.

His hands slip away from Ray’s neck, down his chest, leaving little trails of goosebumps behind his fingers. Ray’s not usually so sensitive, but this is a special occasion. Kevin makes short work of Ray’s belt buckle and the fly of his slacks, and Ray does a very admirable job of not coming the second Kevin’s hand wraps around his cock to guide it out into the open.

“Hello,” Kevin murmurs, against Ray’s lips, and kisses him for real this time while giving his cock slow, teasing strokes. Ray’s going to come as soon as he gets inside Kevin, if he even makes it that far. Hopefully Kevin’s okay with that.

Without breaking the kiss, Kevin lifts up on his knees so Ray’s fingers slip out of him, groaning deep and desperate into Ray’s mouth. He shifts forward on his knees and sinks down on Ray’s cock so quickly for a second Ray worries he lost his balance.

“Fuck me,” Kevin groans against Ray’s lips, sweeps him up in another demanding kiss before Ray can point out Kevin’s the one doing all the fucking. Kevin settles into a frantic, stuttering rhythm, resting his hands back on Ray’s shoulders and using them for leverage. 

Ray holds Kevin’s hips tight, trying not to interfere with his movement but needing something to grab onto, to anchor him against the intensity of all the sensation all at once. Ray had been intending to calm him down, quickly, and put him to bed to sleep it off; he’ll be lucky if he survives.

“Fuck me,” Kevin demands, again, louder, throws his head back and puts his whole body into it. He’s noisy, always, but rarely this loud. Ray shouldn’t be encouraging it, not when the others could be back any time, but there’s no way he’s putting a stop to it now. Ray wraps his hand around Kevin’s cock, squeezes until Kevin cries up and clenches around him, then loosens his grip just a little and strokes him fast and rough in time with the rhythm of his hips. “Like that, like that,” Kevin gasps, words crackling in his throat, breathing gone wild. His fingers clench in Ray’s shirt, and he bucks on Ray’s cock as he comes, so hard his cock nearly jerks out of Ray’s grip.

Ray can’t last any longer, not with Kevin sounding like that, clenching around him like that, looking utterly debauched and absolutely beautiful. He thrusts up, hard, holds Kevin down tight against him as his orgasm tears through him.

“Well,” Kevin mumbles into his neck, some time after both of their breathing returns to normal. “That was nice.”

“You’re trouble,” Ray says, savors the feel of Kevin’s lips curling into a smirk against his skin. Ray can hear the distant chatter of his colleagues, some way down the beach, getting louder as they approach. 

Ray needs to change, to wash these clothes, to go down and meet them to put the fear of God into them if they make Kevin feel embarrassed, but Kevin’s falling asleep against him, and Ray can’t bring himself to move.


End file.
